III: Melting Midas's Touch

Track Three: Reflecting Light, Sam Phillips

𝕿HERE WAS a sunset colored bird buried in blankets, with feathers like golden flames licking at a sea, melting her golden skin into serrated talons that could make a muse out of murder. Her human body dissolved into the fiery wings of the sun's favorite daughter and entrapped her psyche in an hourglass shape of the fatal inferno dripping off her wings. Crystalized wildfire tears laying in the arc underneath her eyes sat waiting, just as the flames lying underneath her skin in a bound capsule of chaos sat, waiting. Waiting for the moment when it would become unbounded, the moment when Circe was swallowed whole by the curse running through her veins. Unable to do a thing. She could dig her hands in, pull up blood like sprouts and watch it sizzle on the floor in front of her: dissecting it and cleansing it bottle by bottle before pouring it all back in. But nothing would change, because its not the blood thats cursed: It's her.

Everything was going smoothly only moments before. Her body melted into the linen sheets beneath her and her mind finally at peace inside her ever noisy head. That was at least, until her obscure sleeping position caught up to her as the awkward pose her neck was laying at shot the message up to her brain. She cracked an eye open and let out a silent groan of pain, she had definitely aggravated a muscle. Cursing the flimsy camping mattresses they were on, she flipped herself the right way around and met her pillow with a sigh, feeling just as tired as she was an hour earlier. But unfortunately, her brain did not seem to understand the same feeling her body did and as she laid there, all that was on her mind was the fact that she was not sleeping, and how tired she would be the next morning. She pushed her slightly sweaty hands to her head and dragged them down her face in exasperation, sighing again and taking a deep inhale. Circe flipped over yet again. Almost reaching the four-hundredth sheep, she finally began to drift off and ease her mind into a relaxed state yet again. But as soon as she had almost conquered her battle with lucidity, she was awoken with a shake, lighting a flame of annoyance as she groaned and shoved a pillow in the direction of the shake, but as the shaking continued her annoyance grew till it was festering the beginnings to a smoldering rage, she felt herself gritting her teeth in annoyance one moment, and slipping into fire and out of her body in the next.

Feeling her nature loosen inside her, Circe pushed it back in before turning to face her attacker: who happened to be none other than her frantic cousin, cursing and fumbling for a wand as if it could fix her little cousin's current state. Circe watched her with sharp claret bird eyes and silently seethed at Dora. It was a few moments before Circe had fully woken up and registered that there was probably a reason why she had been awoken. She bobbed her head around, sharpened eyes scanning her surroundings for any signs of danger. She immediately alerted her senses upon hearing muffled shrieks and screams coming from the outside of the tent.

Her cousin, still frantic and panicking, looked Circe directly in the eye before beckoning her to emerge from the top bunk "Circe, everyone is already outside but we need meet them and get out of here, i'll tell you more once we find them.". The golden maledictus nodded her head up and down, showing a sign of compliance to her elder relatives plan. She obediently hopped out from under the hallowed out crevice she had nestled herself into upon transformation and swiftly untucked her awkward limbs turned wings.

She landed herself underneath Tonks's left ear, unintentionally pushing her talons into Dora's cushy flesh, landing her a playful flick as they exited the tent. Circe's eyed widened as she saw the horror unfold in front of her, tents on fire, people screaming, people being trampled, and mass chaos sweeping a blanket out from under everyone, leaving broken bodies bent at unnatural angles in its wake and memories of the horror to be seared into everyones mind. Circe suddenly understood the gravity of the situation and felt her feathered cheeks rise in temperature at the thought of her immature annoyance only moments previous.

The two traveled through the rows of scorching tents that smelled like more like burnt mutiny than flame eaten canvas the moment Circe spotted the cult-like serpents that had burrowed and bit into this time of bliss. A group of masked tyrants who Circe wouldn't have recognized had it not been for the fact that her own Uncle had been imprisoned in Azkaban for being in the very group that was currently terrorizing the World Cup. A thought crossed her mind: Was it possible that her uncle was one of the instigators? It was possible, but not a reality Circe was capable of accepting. She knew, of course, of the horrors her uncle had committed all those years ago, but she had spent the entire summer dedicated to pushing the memories of last year from her mind. And she felt everything she pushed down come up again in an upheaval of emotions. Struggling to regain composure for the sake of not retching up bird vomit on her cousin's new jacket, Circe angled her eyes at their apparent destination in an attempt to stretch her mind elsewhere. Her cousin's feet were taking large steps, pulling up a boot of mud before replacing it with the other, they traveled faster.

Only a few minutes after leaving the tent, they came to a halt. The smoke filled the sky, with embers of burnt tents and waxy canvas dancing in the cobblestone ash above her, mocking the hundreds of burning stars thousands of miles away. Mocking god, in a way no-one but man and destruction could. Yanking the constellations and crushing the stars, replacing it with mortal ruination.

She breathed in with no struggle: her lungs weren't clogged or choked into breathing. As a phoenix, she found solace in ash, just as she found it in life and death. It was a constant, a normalcy, two things that would never become anything but the same. A start and an end, holding her like a child in between. Two things that would never change.

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𝕿he collapsing cage of a winged creature residing in Circe's blood and marrow, was a curse, not a privilege. That wasn't to say that there were no upsides to her death sentence: Maledictuses, although forced to succumb to spontaneous transformations as they got older due to the ever-growing unstableness gnawing deeper and deeper into their human core, until flickering out like a cheap wick on a candle (and burying any sanity deeper than magma in rock), still had the ability of turning at will, at least for now. Unless of course, something triggered the transformation which in Circe's case, was hereditary. Oftentimes in tainted bloodlines such as her own; families passed down certain traits of the disease, specialized for their own hamartia. Their's was fitting, women born from fire and ash, searing hysteria and femininity bound in a straight jacket. Rage: rage made her a monster, rage made her uncontrollable, it made her boundless, infinite but confined all the same. Confined to something less than a bird, less human, and more of a pyre, a pyre at her own funeral. And rage is what made her transform, this time and last time, and the time before that, an endless paradox of anger that felt more like a male god's retribution than a curse brought from her mother's hand.

Moments before hand, Circe had launched herself from her cousins protection, making landfall atop the burnt leaves which she had felt crunch under her only hours before, still freshly fallen and pumpkin orange, now she stood facing the lilac haired witch (her hair color was freshly changed to the color Circe had long associated with her cousin and nervousness.), who's eyes were elsewhere, glued to the cloaked wizards with Ministry badges pinned to their chests. Her cousin seemed to remember why they were here and she removed her hands from the inside of her jacket, placing them warmly atop Circe's shoulders in an attempt to comfort her little cousin. Her brow furrowing, giving the impression of an aged and worn philosopher in deep thought. Her teeth, working to keep her tongue from making any rash decisions, chewing on her bottom lip as if it would give her guidance in how to steer her.

"Circe, you know where the brooms are?" Circe nodded in response, granting her a look of gratitude. "Good —, if I don't return by the time the sun rises, just take a broom back to the house. The ministry might keep me for a while if I go help out now, probably to assist with cleanup and whatnot".

Her voice trailed off towards the end, although the situation hadn't seemed to have killed anyone yet (at least as far as Circe knew), the worry was still there. Circe gave her cousin a hug, squeezing her and threading her hands through the embroidered leather jacket Tonks was wearing.

"I'll stay near the outskirts of the forest, I know how to keep myself safe."

She gave her cousin another squeeze before pulling away and grinning.

Circe's grin was short lived, wiped off her face like an etch-a-sketch as soon as the thought struck her, the question burning in her mind, Circe was once again as nervous as she was when she first saw the horror unfold before her eyes.

"Where is everyone else? I didn't see them back at the tent when you woke me up."

Her forehead creased and palms became slick with nerves as she waited for her cousin to form a response, said person had taken little time to mull over her response and answered quickly, absentmindedly without thought, which eased Circe alot more. "Emrys had still been up and so had the rest of us, so Mum and Dad arranged for Dad to help with the Ministry and Mom to escort Emrys to his family's tents." Circe felt lighter after this explanation. She always knew her uncle and aunt had good judgement, Emrys's dad and step-mother would have probably been sick to their stomachs in worry, had they not known where their child was. Circe took a step back, grabbing the boots Dora had grabbed on their way out of the tent, Tonks gave her a wave and a lopsided grin before bolting towards the direction of the other aurors.

The girl crunched leaves under her feet as she guided herself through the smoke filled air, it was stretched thickly like syrup, encasing her vision in gossamer and crushed graphite, each new beginning blurring with the edges of an rekindled end as she walked further into the smokey air.

It was a quick walk to reach the protection of the trees, a safe haven covered in prominent roots covered by a thin layer of moss, trees with cobweb's hanging in an embrace between them. As she walked deeper, the muffled sounds began to fade entirely and she was left alone, with her thoughts and the late summer breeze softly kissing her cheeks.

Her solitude was soon interrupted, and she strained her hearing to make out the muffled voices she heard approaching her. A familiar voice met her ears first, it sounded like opulence bursting at the seams with high class pretentiousness and words seeping with loathing "If you think they can't spot a mudblood, stay where you are" Circe was sure she could hear her cousins rotten smile coiling up his face like a serpent, maliciously soaking in every bit of discomfort on the golden trio's face upon the utterance of the mudblood.

Circe followed the sound (or lack of thereof), tense silence now radiating from the group, she could hear the suffocating echo of leaves being shuffled on underfoot and the quick inhales by the curly haired witch.

She placed her hands on the tree she had been previously leaning against and studied the illuminated tableau perpendicular to her. Her cousin: blonde hair split down the middle of his scalp, jaw tense and chiseled, the serpentine smile still lurking, blue eyes threaded with silver and wickedness. His black suit perfectly follows the blurred lines of his body, cowering into the darkness, banishing the moonlight and it arcing over the trio instead, the darkness flowing over his features like water. A soft glow was casted upon the members of the golden trio; the tinted blue light illuminating them. Hermione's dark curls blended into the twilight, the moon framing her face like a halo, her mouth twisted into a look in-between shock and discomfort. Ron was next to her, his face pulled firm in a scowl. Harry stood slightly behind the other two, his brow furrowed, lips pursed in an expression of obvious disgust, and his chestnut colored hair messily strewn across his face.

The ice had melted, and the scene flung itself back into motion as Circe stood silently watching from her comfortable alcove, feet lodged into the knobby tree roots for stability.

The red head felt flames rampaging up his throat and into the air, impulsivity winning the battle between sense and foolishness.

"Watch your mouth"

Seizing Ron's arm, Hermione hurriedly uttered a "Nevermind, Ron", in an attempt to be rid of Malfoy as quickly as possible.

There was a loud bang, that caused everyone to jump, and a few screams could be heard from the other side of the tree's. Malfoy chuckled softly, "Scare easily, don't they?" he said lazily, eyes flitting from Hermione to the edge of the forest. Now nodding towards Ron, "I suppose your daddy told you all to hide? What's he up to ━ trying to rescue all the muggles?"

"Where're your parents?" said Harry, his temper rising. "Out there wearing masks are they?"

Malfoy turned to face Harry, a smile further creeping up his face like poison ivy "Well if they were ... I wouldn't be likely to tell you, would I, Potter?"

The tension could be cut with a knife, silent fumes of anger floating up into the sky like smoke signals, before Hermione could shoot a disgusted look at Malfoy, and turn the other way "Come on, let's go and find the others."

Malfoy stood, watching the others leave, with a satisfied smirk still on his face. He turned to leave before catching a slight movement in the bramble, He caught eyes with his cousin, the daughter of Regulus Black and the face he'd only seen at occasional Christmas dinners. He shot her a scowl before turning on his polished heel, and leaving.

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𝕯daybreak painted the English skies like water atop oil, the sun refusing to meet the surface, resulting in a steady pitter-patter of rain, pouring over Circe Black's window. She hadn't intended to wake up this early, but the rain made her oddly productive. So now she sat, balancing a cup of Earl Gray on her knee and 'The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald' folded over in her right hand while Sinatra sung a melody on the ancient muggle record player which she found at an antique shop, on one of her annual summer antiquing trips with none other than Arthur Weasley, who also was fascinated with Muggles and their odd's and ends. Circe had gotten back late the night before, or rather early this morning. They had gotten in about two or three, it would've been earlier had it not been for Circe falling asleep in a thicket, inside the forest. Apparently, while she had been asleep, the death eaters had begun a firework show, which caused the remaining Ministry workers to explode into a frenzy. Of course, the blame had immediately been placed on her cousin who then had to endure a half-hour of questioning due to her relations to none-other than their deranged uncle, Sirius Black. Once that was taken care-of, the Tasks were done with the World Cup and ready to return back home. So now, Circe sat buried in blankets and the notes of 'Moonlight in Vermont'. Cheese had wrapped himself around her ankles like an anchor tying her to ground. She laid her steaming cup of tea on her windowsill, a few drops flying onto her nearby sheets. Circe stretched beneath the cool silk and fell into a peaceful sleep, lulled by the purr of the orange and yellow cat nested beneath her feet, dragging her conscious from the peril of the night before, to the peacefulness of sleep.

Authors Note ✍︎

 this chapter was quite shit considering i planned and wrote most of it at two AM on a school night so hopefully thats a decent enough excuse for me sounding like Rupi Kaur girl-boss poetry in that one paragraph 😭